


The roaring twenties

by dreamyangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 20s, American History, Bartender Dean Winchester, Closeted Dean Winchester, College Student Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Lawyer Castiel, M/M, My First Fanfic, New York City, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Castiel, Queer History, Speakeasies, Strangers to Lovers, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 13:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16620275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamyangel/pseuds/dreamyangel
Summary: Castiel Novak became a criminal defense lawyer believing in the American justice system but prohibition will cost his last nerve. After a frustrating day in court, he and his best friend Meg Masters visit one of New York's speakeasies in Harlem. This is where he meets Dean and he instantly fell head over heels for the young bartender. Together they discover New York's proud and queer nightlife in the early 1920's.(I am going to add a better summary as soon as I have an idea where this is heading to.)





	The roaring twenties

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo,  
> I am 21 years old, female and from Germany.  
> English is obviously not my first language and so I find myself in need for a capable beta.  
> I really love the story I am going to tell but I need someone who keeps me from tripping over my own words.  
> If you are interested in my story please just DM me.  
> Biting is none of my kinks so don't worry ;).  
> Haha, this is also the first fanfiction I ever uploaded so I pretty much don't know what I am doing.  
> Please leave comments and kudos if you think I deserve them.  
> Tschüssi <3

# The roaring twenties

### Chapter 1

  
“In God we trust” was written in golden letters above the judge's table and the American flag stood proudly to the judges left. Their purpose was to remind everyone defendant, judge, defense and prosecution that they are all shall respect the law of God and the American constitution. The courthouse shall be a place were right is spoken and the ones who disregard the law will be punished and the ones who were suffering will find justice.  
  
Castiel Novak became a criminal defense attorney believing he could make a little impact and bring a little justice to someone in need. He believed, no he still believes, that everyone has the right for legal representation and that the punishment will be orientated by the seriousness of their crime.  
He believes in the American force of law with all his hearth which is why he chose this career instead of becoming a Politician or businessman like his family wanted him too.  
He still didn’t regret his decision but this was a farce. Since the Volstead Act passed in 1919, the courtrooms were packed with presumed criminals whose crime was either visiting their speakeasy at the wrong time or telling the wrong person about their little supply of Canadian whiskey hiding in their basement. Passing this law seemed to become the stupidest thing the Washington Senate ever had done. It wasn't so much the law itself which seemed to turn simple men into criminals but the naïve believe of the Volstead Act supporters that just because a law would pass, people would accept and implement it in their life. When prohibition went into effect the supporters were euphoric and alcohol was banished from their kitchen tables and garden parties. But things were always different in New York.  
Inheriting a new law is difficult especially then when not everybody is convinced by its rightness. Those who believed that alcohol consumption should not be regulated by the government quickly found ways to break or bend the law. Since saloons and clubs had to close because of prohibition, illegal speakeasies were opening all over New York and homebrew became something you could find regularly in any household. In order to in force, the law the Congress of New York opened the bureau of prohibition but the men were badly trained and easy to be paid off. The Police was quickly overstrained as well as the federal courts. New Yorker attorneys had to work fifty thousand prohibition cases every year and Castiel was officially over it.  
For months now all he did was standing in this damn courtroom pretending to defend those clients he just met five minutes ago. He pretended to have a case, the judge pretended to care about the law, the defendant pretended to be deeply sorry and the prosecution pretended to be agreeing with the judge's decision. In most cases, it would take the judge a minute to decide that the punishment would be a fee over five dollars and the man was free to go. After him, there would be fifty other man accused of the same crime all leaving after paying a five dollar fee. After one of those days, Castiel felt the urge to bang his head against the dark mahogany table in front of him and was in deep need for a strong drink himself.  
  
New York was constantly in the pull between wet and dry people. The ones who lived the law and the ones who knowingly ignored it. Castiel considered himself being the last one at least in terms of alcohol. His family was split just like society was. His brother Michael was a supporter of the Volstead Act sitting in the New Yorker senate trying his hardest to in force the law but failing because of people like his brothers Lucifer and Gabriel. Both consummated alcohol but Gabriel chose the more legal way doing so. He owned several clubs and was smart enough to buy whiskey and beer before prohibition passed. Because of that genius idea, Gabriel could sell alcohol to his customers legally at least for another fourteen years. Lucifer instead left the family only being seventeen years old. He joined the bootlegger business and makes tons of money by smuggling alcohol from Canada to New York. Michael and Lucifer weren’t on speaking terms anymore. Castiel was just another normal New Yorker who used the perks living in Satan’s Seat for his own pleasure and alcohol was something that took of the edge after a long day in court.  


That’s why he found himself standing on the steps of the Tweed Courthouse in lower Manhattan talking to his colleague Miss Megan Masters. Miss Masters was a remarkable woman who pushed her way through law school. She was one of the few women visiting a university. Megan had to deal with a lot of disadvantages since being a smart working woman wasn't something the common male university student could easily deal with.  
But she always backfired some snarky comment and eventually, the bullies left her alone. Castiel admired her strength.  
He would have definitely considered her being a good match for him if he could feel such feelings for a woman. So instead of his love interest, she became one of his closest friends and one of the few who knew that he preferred men.  
He found himself looking at her fondly as he pulled out his cigarette case offering her one. She took a deep pull on the cigarette and a little of her red lipstick now remained stuck to the filter. Wearing such a seductive color to court and during the day was not societally appreciated but he guessed that was just one thing Megan couldn’t give a damn about. Her dark hair was cut modernly short. Instead of a skirt, she was wearing wide dark blue trousers giving her something slightly masculine in modern "new woman" kind of way. Castiel liked it allot.  


"Come on, Clarence", she refused to call him by his real name since they met on their first day at Columbia University, " Don't be such a hermit. It will be fun." She took another drag of her cigarette and smiled suggestively at him. He rolled his eyes.

“You want me to drive through the whole city of Manhattan just to take a drink? Why can’t we go for a drink in Green Village it will be a much shorter way. We could walk instead of calling a cab.”

“We are always doing that. Let’s just go to Harlem for once. I know the owner of a speakeasy across from the Alhambra Theatre .”

“The drive could take us an hour”, he argued.

"Clarence, live a little for me. Please."

  
One of Megan’s valuable qualities was that she could bring a man to do almost anything for her and even Castiel, who should be unaffected by her advances, found himself agreeing more often than not. In the end, he ordered one of New York’s new automobile taxis and they were driving down the westside seventh Avenue along Broadway and Lincoln square up to upper Manhattan.  
The taxi drove them through Central Park along the Harlem river onto the sixth Avenue reaching their destination fifteen minutes later. They had lost a few because of New York’s traffic. The sun had already vanished and if they would be in the country right now people would be eating dinner and getting ready for a quiet evening at home. In New York people were just getting started. The whole city seemed to be vibrating and buzzing. Windows opened and you could hear the noises of easy banter, laughter and jazz music blaring through. New Yorker nightlife was intoxicating, bringing out the best and the worst in anybody who was willing to let himself be pulled into the madness that could be found in the most speakeasies and clubs. Castiel grew up in the New Yorker club scene. He loved the feeling of letting go the fears about his future and to replace them with the enjoyment of the moment. 

He hasn’t been in Upper Manhattan since he had studied at Columbia University. After he finished, Castiel decided to rent an apartment on the other side of the city because it was closer to court. When he wanted to feel the buzz of the streets or live out his desires he usually made a visit to Green Village. There he could easily find people of his own tastes. Harlem and Green Village were places where being different was welcomed instead of refused.  
Still, Harlem had changed a lot since he had last been here. In 1910 it was known as a white middle-class district but with the time African Americans made it their own. Suddenly white men were a rarity in "little Afrika" even though a lot of the buildings were still owned by them. The owners would charge more from the Negros than they would from a White American man but that didn't stop them from taking over Harlem. He knew that many of the white population watched the latest developments in Upper Manhattan with concern or disdain fearing the “New Negro” would gain to much power and infiltrate white culture but Castiel didn’t care.  
Being a queer he knew what it was like to be looked at with a certain amount of distrust. He did not wish to make anyone feel disparaged because of their believes or ethnicity. During his time at law school, he was here to witness the change that Harlem went through to a certain amount. He himself felt liberated that another repressed community could make it this far. But then again these were the 1920s, anything was possible.

The speakeasy Megan had suggested was located at the northwest corner of 126th Street 7th Avenue right across the Alhambra Theatre. Just a few blocks away from the famous Cotton Club or Glady's Clam House. The entrance of the "Hells Gate" was a heavy wooden door in a side alley between two apartment blocks. Megan's heels clattered on the uneven concrete as they made their way from the cab to the speakeasy. The streetlight wasn’t working in that alley, probably a precautionary measure, and so Castiel had to squint his eyes to avoid running into the garbage cans in the dark. He felt exhausted after work today and his mood was dangerously close to dropping.  


“Why again did we had to come here?”, he muttered under his breath.  


“I told you I know the owner. I helped him once in court and now he owes me a fun night at his costs”, Megan smirked and stepped in front of the entrance.

She knocked a few times and a small hatch opened. Castiel could barely make out the face on the other side of the door.

“Which sins you wish to confess, Miss”, a manly voice asked into the dark.

“Lust and gluttony”, Megan answered.

Castiel chuckled to himself. They both had enough experiences with that kind of sin.

  
The door opened with a creak and they were lead into a dark corridor. The elderly doorman walked them down the corridor for at least a few minutes and he was sure that they weren’t even in the same building anymore. They could have been a block away from where they had started, or they could have had crossed a street without even knowing it. New York's speakeasies were always well hidden, just in case, the police decided to actually do their job for ones.  
It was very quiet the whole walk but then seemingly out of nowhere, you could hear the faint sound of music through the underground. With every step they took, it got louder and louder until the doorman pushed an elegant double door open and the music swallowed them whole. The smoke of cigarettes and the warmth of the packed speakeasy hit them with a force that Castiel almost felt dizzy for a moment. Within a few moments he became aware of the heavy winter coat he put on this morning to protect himself from the cold October air. He shrugged him off his shoulders and took off his fedora hat. Then he helped Megan out of her coat and gave everything to the doorman who brought it to the clothes rack in the corner.  
He felt still a little warm in his suit so he opened the buttons of his jacket to reveal his matching vest. He chose to go for his navy suit this morning. He wouldn't say that he was overly interested in fashion but he appreciated the confidence a well-fitting suit could give him. His family had always been wealthy and so the visual appearance had always been an important point in his life. Even after he left the "Family business" and made significantly less money than his siblings, he still couldn't get rid of the urge to look presentable.  


  
The "Hells Gate" was a typical middle-class speakeasy. It didn't look too shabby with it's red and brown wallpapers and it's wainscot bar. Behind the counter, the alcohol was situated over the whole wall on dark wooden shelves and he could faintly make out three people standing behind the counter serving the patrons drinks. The patrons were an ethnically and gender mixed crowd. Some were dancing to the black jazz band playing live in the right corner, some had shoved their tables together, playing cards or chattering loudly over the music.  
They barely had made it to the middle of the bar when Megan was recognized by other patrons, being pulled away for a round of poker and leaving Castiel alone in the crowd. He wasn't mad though. In contrast to him, she easily made friends and was often gone for an hour or two before returning to keep him company. Castiel quickly made his way over to the bar counter, sitting down on a stool, waiting to be recognized.  
  
The bartender closes to him had his back turned to Castiel purring some drinks. Castiel appreciated the view as long as he could. He always had a thing for broad shoulders and a luscious ass. But he kept it slightly because he wasn’t sure how queer-friendly this bar was and he didn't want to risk being called out by his starring. If he would be in a speakeasy of his own neighborhood in Green Village he probably would hit on the bartender but today he resigned himself with checking the man out to take the images back home.  
To not strike any attention, he let his eyes wander over the other patrons and the fashionable golden accents of the bar before swinging back to once again admire the fine back of the blond man. The white shirt he was wearing had some stains probably from wiping his hands on it instead of using a towel. His gaze roamed over the strong back down to the waistband of his brown pants. Suspenders held them in place like it was common for the working class man.  
  
Suddenly, said man, turned around and friendly green eyes stared right back at him. Castiel felt his mouth go dry and it was like lightning struck through his whole body brightening him up from the inside out. That must have been one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen. His face was ridiculously symmetric. He had freckles scattered all over the bridge of his nose. His collar was unbuttoned and so Castiel could admire the tan skin showing through.  
He had to force himself to quit ogling him so obviously bringing his gaze back to his face. Apparently, the man had asked him a question because he had raised his eyebrows, full lips curled up to a small smile. Castiel shook himself out of his rigor.  


“I am sorry”, he said shaking his head, “What were you asking?”

"I was asking what you wanted for a drink, sir" Meanwhile the bartender had taken a kitchen towel and started to swipe the crunched nutshells from the dirty countertop.

“Whiskey, please."

"All right, coming right up."He threw the towel over his shoulder and reached down to grab a glass and the whiskey, placing both in front of Castiel.

"Never seen you around here", he said as a matter of fact.

He leaned his elbows down on the bar, resting his chin on his left palm watching Castiel squirm in front of him. Clearing his throat to swallow down the lump which had suddenly emerged, he answered awkwardly:

“Of course not, it’s my first time in Hells Gate.”

"Yeah, I figured. You look way to cleaned up for this sort of bar.”

“Oh, do I”, Castiel asked suddenly feeling conscious about his attire. He found himself looking at the other people in the speakeasy.

“Don’t worry you look handsome”, the bartender said obviously amused by Castiel’s behavior.

He felt a flush working his way up to his ears and he hoped that the light was bad enough for it to go unrecognized. ‘Normal’ man didn’t flush when another man made them a compliment and in any other situation Castiel was very well controlled but the blond bartender made him nervous.  
Instead of procuring the conversation he took a sip on his whiskey and hummed a little under his breath. Megan had told him that the owner, a man named Fergus Crowley, was known for selling the best whiskey in Upper Manhattan. She was right the whiskey was delicious, probably as good as the one that Gabriel served in one of his clubs. Castiel briefly wondered if the alcohol was coming from one of Lucifer’s businesses.  


“It’s good isn’t it”, the bartender said reacting to his visible sign of pleasure, “ Best damn whiskey I ever had.”

“It is quite delicious.” He nodded his head in agreement. The man smiled at his words showing a row of perfect white teeth. God in heaven, this man didn’t seem to have just one flaw.

“So what are you doing in a place like this? Sorry, I didn't catch your name before,” he paused after the question watching him intently.

“Castiel Novak", he answered wondering where this conversation was heading to because the bartender was most likely straight and he didn't want to get his hopes up.

“Castiel?”

“Like the angel”, Castiel explained.

“My mom always used to say that angels were watching over me.” His smile was sad and Castiel wanted to reach out and caress the frown away which had emerged on his face. Instead, he asked dumbly:

“Did she?”

“Yeah whatever, don’t know why I said that”, the bartender shrugged and the moment was gone, “My name is Dean Winchester.”  
He showed his beautiful smile again.

“Hello Dean”, he heard himself say.

For no reason whatsoever his answer seemed to be quiet comic because Dean started laughing out loud baring his throat. Castiel felt how the needle of his inner compass shifted being pulled in by the deep sound of laughter. Instantly he knew that he should stay away from Dean Winchester for the sake of his own sanity but he also couldn’t find strength in himself to do so.


End file.
